Summary: The ruins of Hogwarts were bathed in the scant light of a crescent moon. And gliding through the darkness below was the imprint of a lost hero. The spirit flexed its growing permanence, feeling the unnerving sensation of swallowing boulders with its newfound form. It, or rather he—he had been a ‘he’ at one point—moved through the dewy, body-strewn grass tense with the memory of the extraordinary choice he’d been given.